


The Universal Language

by roanapur



Category: Black Lagoon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, F/M, Minor Gun Usage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:14:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27115222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roanapur/pseuds/roanapur
Summary: You can speak all the languages you want, but they won't get you as far as a gun will.
Relationships: Rebecca "Revy" Lee/Okajima "Rock" Rokuro
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	The Universal Language

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be from revys pov and just supposed to be something i shitted out but then it turned into whatever the fuck this is
> 
> im aware that this is basically the rock/revy argument scene (wow which one? the cigarette one) but i cant be assed to change it lmfao
> 
> also the guns arent a major part but if i got anything wrong feel free to burn my house down or some shit idk
> 
> please point out any errors, thank you <3

A single bullet cuts through the rancid air, grazing an empty beer can sat atop a trash can. The discarded shell joins the tens of others on the ground.

"I can't do it," a man sighs. He's in a white dress shirt with slacks.

His companion - a woman with not one, but two guns under her toned arms - rolls her eyes. "It's not that hard."

"Maybe for you, it isn't," he replies, turning around to face the woman. "Did you bring me here just to laugh at me?"

"No. You're so damn bad at this it isn't even funny," she says, eyeing the can. "I brought you here because you need to learn how to use a gun."

"I don't need to-"

"You're in Roanapur. So yes, you _do_ need to."

The man frowns at that. "I've survived this long without firing a gun, haven't I?"

"You won't survive much longer if you keep being a little bitch about it," the gunslinger retorts. "I'm not going to babysit you forever." 

"Nobody asked you to," he replies, calm as always. "If anything, you're choosing to babysit me."

She averts her eyes, focusing on an empty bullet shell instead of him. "I'm just doing this 'cause it'd be a real pain in the ass if you died on us."

"Is that your way of flirting?"

"Don't fucking flatter yourself, Rock. Anyways, we're not leaving until you manage to hit that can."

"Fine," Rock reluctantly agrees, aiming the gun at the beer can. 

He tries to do what Revy told him - be relaxed, align the rear sight and front sign, align the white dot with your target - but there's something about it all that puts him off. The weight in his hands is a foreign one; one he'd hoped he'd never have to acquaint himself with.

It's laughable, almost. The way he talks and talks, knowing his words might end his or another person's life… and yet, when it comes down to it, he's unable to cross the line himself. How long has it been since that fateful day? About a year? A year in Roanapur, and he's still unnerved by the idea of murder?

(Maybe Revy was right. Maybe he _should_ go back to Japan.)

A trembling finger squeezes the trigger.

The can remains intact, save for a cut in its side. It rocks from side to side before toppling over.

"You're paying for all the ammo you're wasting," Revy complains, taking a seat on the ground.

"When do I _not_ pay for everything," Rock mutters.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," he says. His arms are starting to ache. 

"Stop complaining and get it over with. Trust me, I'm getting real tired of waiting, too."

"Why couldn't we have gone to a shooting range?"

The gunslinger spits on the ground. "Too many rules for my liking."

"You're not even the one shooting the gun. Why does it matter?"

"Shooting ranges are nothing like the real thing," she starts, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. "They can talk all they want, but they can never replicate the chaos, no matter how hard they try. And the chaos is the fun part - why bother shooting if there isn't any?"

"You find killing people fun?"

"Don't act like you're any better, just 'cause you haven't aimed a gun at anybody," she glares at him, boring holes into his back. "You've still got blood on your hands."

"Maybe I do," he admits. "But at least I don't take pleasure in that fact."

Revy reaches for the Beretta under her arm, but stops herself. "Stop acting so damn high and mighty. You're not any better than me."

"I never said I was-"

"Well, you're fucking _acting_ like it-"

Rocks throws the Glock on the ground, and turns around to face Revy. "Would you let me finish for once, and stop acting like you know everything-"

"I know more than you," she snarls, standing up. "All you've got is your stupid fucking college degree and silver tongue. Those won't do you _shit_ here."

"They've done me _something_ , considering I'm still here! Do you really think violence is the answer to everything?" 

"I don't think so; I _know_ so," Revy spits out, balling her hands into fists. "One of these days, that silver tongue of yours is gonna fail you. And there's no guarantee that I'll be there. So why don't you just get over your little hero complex and pick up the goddamn gun?"

Rock kicks the gun, sending it spiralling. "What if I don't want to, huh? What's so good about a gun?"

"This is for your own fucking good, you idiot!" she screams, sweat trickling down her forehead. "Do you have a death wish?"

"How is this for my own good? Should I become animals like the rest of you?"

Stomping over to Rock, Revy grabs him by the collar, gnashing her teeth. "I didn't think I'd have to spell it out for you, but here I am," she growls, her face so close he can smell the Newports on her breath. "You can speak all the languages in the world, but they won't do you shit if nobody's willing to listen. And you want to know how to get people to listen? With force. Nothing but brute force, Rocky-baby."

He grips Revy's wrist, and shakes her off of him. "Violence isn't the only language there is. Maybe if you got your head out of your ass, you'd see that, Revy!"

"Which one of us has our head in our ass, I wonder? Me, or the guy who nearly gets himself killed every two seconds because he's too busy preaching about things like justice in fucking _Roanapur_ of all places?"

"Roanapur this, Roanapur that; you just use it as an excuse to act like a piece of shit!"

Golden brown eyes widen. They stare at him for a moment. All they do is stare; they don't even blink.

Revy parts her lips, and quickly purses them shut again. Her nose is scrunched up, and her eyebrows are furrowed, as if she's smelled something foul. The cigarette in her hand is turning to ash, crumbling to the ground.

Rock waits for her to say something, his shoulders still tense. He watches the way her lips start to form a word, but then quickly take it back. Her teeth press against her bottom lip; if she bites any harder, she might draw blood.

Distant gunshots ring in the air, profanities accompanying screams. To the two of them, this is the closest to silence they'll get.

(And they prefer it - if there's true silence, then the only thing left to hear is their own thoughts.)

"... I'm only going to repeat this once, Rock. And don't you fucking dare tell anyone."

This isn't the gunslinger's usual way of speaking - her loud voice is at a normal volume for once, and the cockiness lacing it is nowhere to be found.

"You want to know why I took you here?" she asks, looking at her dirty combat boots. "Nobody understands reason in a place like this. All they understand is violence. It's the universal language."

Rock stays silent. He's well aware it's sick of him to say this, but he feels honored, almost, that Revy's being so vulnerable. 

(She wouldn't be this way with anyone else - can't be this way with anyone else.)

"Sure, some people are willing to listen," she continues, dropping the cigarette on the ground and putting it out with her boot. "But most people around here either don't have the brains to understand, or they just don't _want_ to listen. The only thing they'll listen to is a gun."

"That's not true," he wants to say - no, _scream_ at her; but his lips refuse to move, and his throat is closed up. 

She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes. "Violence is the only language everybody understands. It's more useful than Romanian or Thai or whatever."

His mouth finally moves. "I can prove you wrong," he begins, "Violence isn't -"

"Rock, please," Revy asks (or begs, rather). "I'm telling you, one day… your silver tongue will be cut off. And what will you do then?"

She starts to ask another question, but stops herself. Her eyes still avoid Rock's.

Rock has no words. Even if he did, they wouldn't be any use.

(Doesn't that last sentence prove her point?)

The gun still lays on the hard and filthy floor. While staring at the weapon, he wonders if this is the way things have to be.

(What a foolish question.)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading or leaving kudos or whatever !!


End file.
